Nightly Noises
by Pipwise Brandygin
Summary: Newly settled into Crickhollow with Merry, the Old Forest is a little too close to home for Pippin's liking. A nightmare raises up some memories and fears that both hobbits have tried to bury.


Disclaimer: Places, characters etc. all belong to Tolkien.

A/N: Written for Marigold's Challenge 13 from this starter question: _What were Merry and/or Pippin thinking while they were trapped in Old Man Willow?_

Thank you to Slightly Tookish for the beta :)

**Nightly Noises**

Pippin hadn't thought about it in quite some time; after everything else that happened on the quest, and then the busy time they had of it setting the Shire to rights when they returned, it was not until winter turned to spring, when he and Merry had just settled into Crickhollow, that memories of the past threatened a peace and stability they had not yet begun to enjoy.

One windy night, after several days of driving rain, they sat together in the living room with the fire blazing. The damp and dismal weather made Pippin's bones ache and he had been out of sorts for a couple of days, drifting around the house while Merry rode out to Brandy Hall and to the market to arrange supplies for their first party. That night, he tried to lift his spirits for Merry's sake, for a while content enough to listen to the rise and fall of his cousin's voice as he read from an old book he had brought back with him, and enjoy the wine Merry had told him cheerfully that he had bought to stop them drinking the party supplies. But he felt miserable, even in this homely room, with the fire blazing merrily in the hearth.

_Tap tap tap. _ Pippin fidgeted restlessly, uncomfortably aware of the scraping of twigs against the windowpane as the wind buffeted the nearby trees, and of the wind whistling down the chimney and under the doors. The more he tried to put it out of his mind the more he noticed it: _tip-tap – creak._ It wasn't as if it were a thing that should bother him at all, he thought at first, but deep in one of the parts of his mind where he had buried such things, he was sure there was a reason it filled him with such unease.

His mind whirling with imaginings and disjointed fragments of the past, Pippin said little all night, moodily watching the firelight flickering across the walls. Unaware of the worried looks Merry was giving him, he eventually retired early to his bedroom, hoping that sleep and a new morning would rid him of his unsettled thoughts.

He lay there for some time, tossing and turning and fretting, and heard Merry go to his room too, heard him pause at his door, and then it was utterly dark as the last light went out. The room suddenly seemed very small, and Pippin swallowed, his heart thudding more quickly as he thought of the trees encircling the little house, imagined them waking up and closing in, their searching twig-fingers creeping around windowpanes and under doors…

Pippin yelped as something terribly strong gripped him around his chest and began to squeeze tightly. He twisted and struggled, and started as a dry creaking voice whispered to him in a language he couldn't understand, the sound of it echoing around the small room. As Pippin looked around him he saw that the walls were now covered in bark and moss, and with increasing horror he realised that he was not in his room at all. As it dawned on him, he shivered. He was back in the willow tree. Had he never escaped, after all?

Another root twisted around his neck and the voice laughed cruelly, and Pippin whimpered, "Merry," his breath coming in frightened wheezes as he began to panic, thrashing his arms and legs desperately, trying to release the choking grip around him. Something else was calling him, a low and urgent voice on the edge of his awareness, but Pippin couldn't hear what it was trying to say. It was drowned out by the harsh sound of the thing attacking him and the pulse beating in his ears, and Pippin's struggles began to fade as he grew weaker and weaker.

With a shuddering gasp, he opened his eyes. Merry was sitting beside him, rocking him gently. "Shhh, Pip… I'm here," he was murmuring in a soft, calm voice, but Pippin saw only his cousin's frightened eyes and felt his hands trembling, and wondered dully what had happened to worry him so. He took a deep breath, and then another, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs.

"Mrr," he mumbled, trembling. Dark tatters of the dream lingered at the edge of his memory, and he turned instinctively to the window. There were shadows dancing across the walls, and branches still tapping restlessly on the windowpane, and Pippin heard himself whimper, turned wide eyes to his cousin, and clutched his hand tightly.

"Are we?" he whispered, looking at Merry searchingly, trying to place where they were, ground himself in something certain. "No. No, of course not," he muttered, shivering a little.

"Pip? You were having a nightmare," Merry said shakily, reaching to the floor for his blanket and putting it around his shoulders. Pippin absently clutched at it with his free hand. "You were all tangled up in your sheets," he added, gesturing to the bed linen, which lay crumpled and twisted like ropes over the edge of the mattress. "I managed to get you out of them, but you still wouldn't wake up."

Merry gently let go of his hand and busied himself tucking the sheets back in while Pippin watched, drawing his knees up to his chin.

Just a dream, of course. But it had felt quite real, as though he were awake – just like in Bombadil's house that night, he remembered suddenly, before the glad sound of old Tom's voice had turned him to pleasanter dreams, protecting him from Old Man Willow for the second time that day. When Merry had finished laying the sheets out and smoothing them down with his hands, Pippin crawled beneath them once more, but Merry stayed standing there beside the bed, frowning. Pippin took one look at him and patted the sheets, shifting over to make room beside him.

"What is it, Merry-lad?" he murmured. "Not my daft dreams upsetting you again, I hope."

Merry swallowed and got in beside Pippin. He turned to face him and rested his head on his hands, keeping his arms close to his chest. He swallowed again, and Pippin wondered if Merry mightn't be close to tears.

They lay there looking at each other without saying anything for a few long moments, and then Merry sniffed.

"You were choking," Merry said quietly. "You couldn't breathe."

Pippin blinked and concentrated on Merry being right there beside him, and made himself force the dreadful memories of his dream to the back of his mind.

"What was it about?" Merry asked, without taking his eyes from Pippin's. "I thought," he began, and then stopped.

"I thought I was inside the willow tree again," Pippin whispered. He offered Merry a tentative smile, and reached out a hand, resting it flat on the sheets between them.

Merry's eyes widened, and he moved one hand to lace his fingers through Pippin's. He ran them gently over the scars, and said with a smile in his voice, "You're not still frightened of him are you?"

"Perhaps," Pippin sniffed, his heart lifting a little to see Merry's relief. "You know, we are practically inside that dratted forest here, Merry," he added in a stronger voice. "And I do protest at having to live in a house with branches tapping on the windows night and day. I feel like they want to get in. It's quite unsettling."

"Oh, Pip," Merry said, his blue eyes wide with worry. "Why didn't you say? Is that why you've been so out of sorts?"

Pippin shrugged and then nodded meekly, and Merry sighed again and looked away, down at their hands. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Pippin's hand, and his voice was thick when he spoke again. "I couldn't wake you up. I thought you were dreaming you were under the troll again, and you were all alone, and no-one-"

"Hush, Merry-lad," Pippin whispered, swallowing away the grief rising in his throat. "My Merry." He pulled Merry closer to him and looked solemnly into his eyes. They had talked about this before, of course. In Ithilien, and Minas Tirith, and now here, in their own home. Even here, there was no getting away from the past. For Merry, Pippin's dreams were a reminder of his failures to protect his young cousin, and just as he had done when those dark times first happened, he worried over them long after Pippin himself had forgotten them.

"I should have been there, Pip," Merry said brokenly.

"No you shouldn't," Pippin whispered into his ear. "If you'd been there, I might have lost you, and then where would I be?" His eyes filled with tears and he blinked them away stubbornly. "What is the good of all this talk anyway?"

"I don't know," Merry muttered wearily, hugging Pippin closer to him so the younger hobbit's head rested on his shoulder. "Perhaps if we air things out a bit, we won't have any more nights like this one."

Pippin smiled and closed his eyes. "We'll talk, then. In the morning," he mumbled. Moments later, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Pippin woke to find Merry gone and the curtains drawn, bright sunshine streaming in through the window. He squinted and rubbed his eyes tiredly, his heart feeling lighter now that it was day, and he yawned widely and sniffed, smelling bacon. Well, if that wasn't enough to lift his spirits, he thought with a smile as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. And there was another thing – the pain had gone at last, he realised thankfully, padding out of his room to find his cousin.

Merry was standing in the open doorway of the kitchen smoking his pipe, while bacon, mushrooms and tomatoes hissed and crackled on the stove. Pippin went to tend to them, and glanced at Merry out of the corner of his eye.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked him casually. Merry started and whirled around, nearly dropping his pipe. His expression of surprise turned to a sheepish grin as he saw Pippin smirking at him.

"Yes, thank you, Pip," he replied, smiling. "Less of your fidgeting, for one thing."

Pippin looked at him closely, noticing the dark circles under Merry's eyes. It wasn't unlike Merry to lay awake after one of Pippin's nightmares, long after Pippin had fallen asleep, and he let out a small sigh, wishing for the hundredth time that Merry wouldn't take so much of Pippin's hurt onto his own shoulders.

As Pippin turned back to the breakfast cooking on the stove, Merry remained standing contemplatively in the pool of sunlight streaming in through the door and said, "Let's eat outside, shall we?"

It still came as second nature to both hobbits to be outdoors rather than cooped up inside; indeed, in the weeks they had been roaming the Shire for ruffians they had reverted to the habits of those long months travelling with the Fellowship. Even now, with their own house and a perfectly good kitchen to sit in, it still seemed natural to take their meals outside.

They settled themselves on a bench at the back of the house and ate hungrily. After a time, Pippin looked up from his meal and started, gazing around him for the first time at the fresh new day the storm had brought, and realising just then how bright and green this spring promised to be. Where last night the rustling of the branches in the wind had seemed threatening, this morning he saw only white blossoms and the green buds of new leaves. He marvelled quietly at these signs of new life. Thanks to Sam's tireless labours, the same sights would greet hobbits all over the Shire.

Merry was watching him, his fork poised in mid-air. "It's already spring," Pippin said at length, gesturing with a sudden smile to the sun filtering through the leaves, and Merry nodded, grinning back.

It did not need to be said, that fear never held up long under bright sunlight; like an orc, it thrived on the darkness. All of their worst hours had been the darkest, when the sun had been hidden, by nature or by design. Or when they had been apart, Pippin remembered, watching Merry seriously as his friend cleaned his plate.

Pippin felt ashamed, if he was honest with himself, that he could let those old fears intrude in their new home, or allow the past to disturb the peace they had spent so long trying to build for themselves and the rest of the Shire. But there was no knowing when dark terrors would rise up unexpectedly in the night, even now that they had got through it all.

He frowned at the dark line of trees behind the copse ringing the house; the Hedge, and then the Old Forest itself, barely a stone's throw away.

"Strange to think that that is where it began, our journey," he said suddenly, pointing to the Hedge. "I was such a fool, wasn't I? Scared of everything that moved and still within shouting distance of the Shire."

Merry smiled, as if he had been waiting for this. "You weren't a fool, Pip. You were just so young." He bit his lip, gazing in the direction of the dark wood. "I don't know what I was thinking, really, telling you all those dreadful stories as we were going inside. Hardly the best time to start feeding your imagination," he added, and turned to ruffle Pippin's hair affectionately.

"It didn't need 'feeding', Merry," Pippin said, grabbing at Merry's hand, wanting to be taken seriously for once. "I think I would have been frightened even if you hadn't told me those stories. I couldn't help it, I suppose; those trees felt so evil, a–and I couldn't bear how they were crowding in on us." He paused. "I suppose I never thought we could get in so much trouble the moment we set foot out of the Shire."

"Nor did I," Merry admitted. "But I've always lived so close to the Old Forest, I wasn't really that afraid."

"Maybe not," Pippin scowled as Merry's words hit a raw nerve. "But you still got us lost and you didn't tell us anything about trees sending you to sleep and trying to eat you alive."

Merry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Yes, well I had plenty of time to reflect on that whilst Old Man Willow had me trapped in that crack. All I could think of, aside from how it must feel to be drowning, was how quickly I had failed Frodo," he frowned. "Still in my neck of the woods, as it were, and already needing to be saved from something." He leaned his head back and fished in his pocket for some pipeweed. "If it weren't for dear old Tom we wouldn't have got very far at all, would we?"

"No, we wouldn't," Pippin murmured. "I was so frightened in there. We hadn't done anything to him and there he was laughing at us like that, like he was going to enjoy eating us… and I knew you were trapped too, and I was just hoping Frodo and Sam would get us out, but he was so strong and the crack I was in kept getting smaller, and-"

"And Tom Bombadil got us out and took us to his home where it was safe and warm," Merry finished for him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"And all the hobbits lived happily ever after," Pippin added, quirking an eyebrow at him. He smiled, and reached for his own pipe. "It can be very unsettling, living in a new house," he mused. "I'm sure this will all pass, like everything else has."

"Yes," Merry agreed. "I hope so. And next time you're tempted to frighten us both like that, you can always remind yourself of how casually you walked into Fangorn. You thought it was rather untidy, if I remember rightly." He smiled at Pippin for a moment, pride lighting his eyes. "You were so brave, getting us away from the orcs, you weren't in the least bit bothered by a few more evil trees."

Pippin laughed, "How right you are, cousin. That _was _ one of my finer moments." He sobered again quickly though, and put his hand over Merry's. "I am sorry I frightened you as well last night. If I'd known you would go through all that, I would have told you how I felt."

Merry nodded, his eyes downcast. He tightened his fingers around Pippin's and inhaled deeply on his pipe before he spoke again. "I just need to be there, Pip. I can't bear to think that I might not be there when you need me. It's already happened too many times."

Pippin put his arm around Merry's neck and drew his head down to rest on Pippin's shoulder. "Well, I don't think it will happen again, Merry-lad," he said softly. "You're always with me, you know. Even when you're not."

Having silenced his cousin with some fine Tookish sense, Pippin smiled and kissed Merry's curls, resting his cheek on his head, and felt Merry's arms tighten around him.

Maybe there would be other nights like this in the days and years to come, Pippin thought; but there seemed very little left to fear here in their own garden, with Merry beside him, as the bright sunshine of a new spring warmed their faces.


End file.
